


This is a Golden Age

by ratifythesilence



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratifythesilence/pseuds/ratifythesilence
Summary: The first time James Barnes spoke to Steve Rogers could've happened when he was seven and Steve was six, in the middle of a stinking hot day right at the end of June. They missed each other again on Steve's very first day of middle school. Finally, in Junior Year of high school, it happens.





	This is a Golden Age

The first time James Barnes spoke to Steve Rogers could've happened when he was seven and Steve was six, in the middle of a stinking hot day right at the end of June. A day where George Barnes and Sarah Rogers both decided that the smaller parks that were closer to their houses would not make the cut, and drove to the largest park in town - the one with a proper playground, and even a half decent paddling pool if you weren't worried about what you were paddling into. And it was there that eight (and three quarters) year old Johan Schmidt was repeatedly knocking other kids out of the sandbox. James, who'd gone straight for the swings, didn't notice at first, but Steve marched over to stop him, fueled with as much righteous fury as a six year old could muster. Potentially expectedly, he marched directly into being shoved out himself, which finally caught James' attention. What cemented it was Steve getting right back up, scraped knees and elbows be damned, and trying again.

He couldn't just leave a fight like that unbalanced could he?

A very short-lived scuffle resulted in another scrape on Steve's cheek, Bucky knocking his head on one of the posts holding up the sunshade, and Schmidt (realising he was perhaps outmatched) scowling and stalking away from the sandpit. James and Bucky, hovering on the cusp of possibility, stared at each other. Steve tried to wipe his cheek and smeared blood along it. Bucky rubbed the back of his head. But, before either of them could say a word, their parents - attracted by the scuffle - arrived to drag them both home.

They missed each other again on Steve's very first day of Middle School. They were both sitting in the school office, James (who was now going exclusively by Bucky) having been called because his mother was picking him up early for a reason he hadn't been told yet, and Steve because he'd come back from recess with a nosebleed dripping onto his sneakers and would not tell anyone why. They were sitting across from each other for almost ten minutes, kicking their feet in the silence. But Bucky, curious as he was, was too distracted by whatever his mother could be picking him up early for. Steve, with tissue stuffed in his nose which was at least no longer bleeding, kept his head down and wondered how well his shoes would wash, or if he'd be wearing them bloodstained for the rest of the year. Rebecca Barnes arrived to drive Bucky to some unpleasant news about his parent's relationship, and Steve was called into the principals office to be questioned yet again. And, as Bucky left the school a few weeks later, that was that.

As with some paths, that always seemed destined to cross, they met again, this time in high school. Steve was fifteen, and Bucky was sixteen, and now they were both starting their Sophomore year. Steve, though he did find his eye caught by Bucky a few times, did not take long to figure out that the new kid could handle himself. Bucky, blinded at first by being new and breaking into a group of teenagers who  _ all seemed to already know each other _ , did not at first notice Steve. By the time he did, it was a month in and he may have garnered a little bit of a reputation.

It didn't seem fair to him. He was only still a Sophomore because several fractured terms had left him without a passing grade, and he wasn't being given the option to test out, but he'd already covered most of his classwork. He was bored. And, maybe, his reaction to getting bored was to get a little mouthy, he'd go to his grave swearing he couldn't help himself. So, by the time he noticed that a scrawny blond kid  _ also _ didn't have any friends, he already had a build up of detentions, and an acquaintance with the office staff. Between the art folio the kid carried around, and the expression he got when Bucky ran his mouth in class, he figured they might've missed the opportunity. (He did not, obviously, remember their previous opportunities). The second semester was well underway by the time that notion was even a little disabused.

Bucky Barnes was smoking behind a tree near the science building - he'd half convinced himself that he could pretend the smoke was from a Chemistry project if he got caught, even though he was well aware no one would ever fall for that. It was a habit he kept thinking he should quit, but at the same time he was fairly sure that the fact that he smoked was the only thing that made him seem moderately cool, like he hung around by himself on purpose. He was maybe scared, though he'd never admit it, that if he quit he'd lose the at least quasi-rebellious reputation he had, and become simply 'annoying'. But maybe it was meant to be, because if he hadn't been smoking behind a tree, he never would've seen Dirk Garthwaite threatening to break a freshman's glasses. Bucky hesitated. He really didn't want to watch this, but he had - for the most part - avoided fighting on school grounds at this school. He was trying to avoid his mom getting that call again. As it turned out, he didn't need to worry.

Because the scrawny blond kid with the art portfolio came speeding towards Garthwaite like he had a homing beacon and that? That was a pretty one-sided fight once the freshman got away, and one Bucky probably would've stepped into help with if a biology teacher hadn't cut it off prematurely. Which meant Bucky just stubbed out his cigarette and tried to stay hidden behind the tree. (It did not work, and neither did the Chemistry project excuse, or the fact that he hadn't been involved with the fight at all). So, once again, Bucky Barnes sat in a school office next to a bleeding Steve Rogers. This time he wanted to talk, but he was struck by the fact that he had no idea what to say. Steve was sent to the nurses office, and he was called in to be lectured about smoking on school grounds before he could think of anything.

So that was the first time Bucky really noticed Steve. That was when he started to keep an eye on him, noticing how often he had scraped knuckles, or bruises,  noticing how he eyed up other students. But talking? That took a little bit longer.

Steve was sitting on the bleachers with a sketchbook the first time Bucky Barnes spoke to him. It was their Junior year, and though Steve didn't know it, Bucky had spent a good part of the summer berating himself for not finding a way to introduce himself before the school year ended. If he'd thought about it more he'd know he didn't need to, considering he attracted enough attention to himself in class anyway. The point was, Steve was on the bleachers when normally he'd be in the art room, because Mr. Erskine had told him he needed to practice large scale scenes, not just the still lifes that were set up. So, he was taking him at his word and drawing a football game, using the practicing team as a rough reference. It was an easy drawing to get into the rhythm of, everything narrowing down to the trace of pencil over paper. Which was maybe why it was so surprising when a pair of hands appeared on the bench below him

Steve jerked in surprise, pulling his pencil off the page in an attempt to avoid an extra squiggle - he was only partially successful. Frowning, he dug his eraser out of the pencil case next to him.

The owner of the hands got an elbow up, and then started to lever his whole body through the gap between seats. Then he settled onto the bench, tugging his jacket back into place once he was there.

When Steve looked up, James Barnes was staring at him. And, like he'd been waiting for Steve's attention before started, he said, "Are you really drawing the football team?"

"I'm drawing the football field," Steve said. "Why?"

Barnes stood again, stepping up so he was on the same bench at Steve and peering over his shoulder. He pointed at the page. "The team's right there."

"An empty football field would be a pretty boring picture," Steve said, pushing his hand away.

Barnes grinned and said, "Maybe."

Steve, unsure exactly why Barnes was talking to him, decided to stay quiet. As far as he'd seen, the guy wasn't so much a bully or anything. He'd go after teachers in class, and he'd been in a couple of fights, but Steve had never seen him go after kids smaller than him. Really, Barnes tended to keep to himself. If he had been starting to branch out, Steve didn't really think he'd ever be one of the people he'd branch too. Something about being small, and scrawny, and carrying a sketchbook around. But there he was, watching Steve draw.

"What's your name?" Barnes asked, doing a remarkable job of pretending he did not already know.

"Steve Rogers."

There was a silence.

"Aren't you going to ask my name?"

Steve looked up, disbelief clear on his face. "You're James Barnes," he said. "I've heard you get given detention maybe three times this week."

Barnes, for some reason, looked delighted. "Call me Bucky."

"What?" Steve blinked.

"Call me Bucky, nobody calls me James. Why are you drawing the football field?"

"Practice," Steve said mildly, turning back to his page and continuing to sketch.

Bucky stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back. "Practice for what?"

"Art class."

"You don't talk much do you?"

Steve frowned at the running back in his picture, who's leg was on an odd angle. "Not to people I don't know."

"Liar," Bucky said. "You were ripping into Camp the other day, I saw you."

"I know Camp," Steve said, unable to keep the irritation at the memory out of his voice. "Henry Camp is not a hard person to know. I just don't like him."

Bucky snickered. "What did he even do?"

"Nothing," Steve frowned, erasing maybe a little too vigorously. "He was just being rude to some Freshman. They don't need that."

"Do you feel some kind of kinship with them because you're the same size?" Steve's head shot up, and he turned to to glare. Bucky's lips were pressed together but it was doing nothing to suppress his smile. Under Steve's gaze he raised both his hands in surrender. "Kidding. Sorry. Anyway, Camp isn't as bad as Calusky."

Steve looked back at his sketchbook. "You're only saying that because you fought Calusky and lost."

Bucky straightened up, indignation showing clear on his face. "Firstly, he did not beat me, and secondly, see, you do know me. Or at least you've noticed me." He preened for a moment.

"You came into US History with blood all over your face, it was pretty hard not to notice," Steve retorted.

"Still," Bucky blew out a long breath, looking over the field. "So, why the football field?"

"It's big." Steve bit his bottom lip, focussing on shading one of the trees on the far side of the field.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky glance over. "It's big? that's it?"

"Yup." Steve snuck a glance over to see Bucky watching him carefully.

"Okay, so it's not some kind of pining shit for someone on the team?"

Steve almost dropped his sketchbook, gaping at him. "No!"

Bucky shrugged, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Just asking."

Steve shook his head, turning back to the field. He wasn't even sure he had anything to say in response to that. For a few minutes they sat in silence, before Bucky stood up, said, "I'll see you around, Steve," and slid back beneath the bleachers. Steve told himself he was glad Bucky had gone.

But the next day when he was confronting Calusky there was a sudden presence at his back, and Calusky stopped looking at him in favour of what was behind him. He turned, eyes narrowing, to see Bucky, leaning casually against the wall of lockers and staring with a neutral look on his face. "Problem?" he said, after Steve had trailed off.

Calusky's eyes narrowed. "No," he grunted, before turning and walking away.

Bucky's gaze shifted down to Steve, and the neutral look became a shit-eating smile. "See, if I'd lost the fight, would he just walk away like that?"

\--

"Why are you walking this way?" Bucky called, jogging to catch up. "You live in the opposite direction."

"My mom got me art classes for Christmas," Steve answered. "Wait, how do you know which way I live?"

"Well, I assumed," Bucky said, drawing the vowels out into a drawl. "I've seen you walk the other way. And I live this way, so I would've seen you before if you did."

"You could just be used to skipping out on last period," Steve pointed out. "Or I could always be doing something after class. Also, this could constitute as stalking."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "This is my walk home, you're the one walking on it. Where's your art class?"

Steve pulled the flier out of his pocket, checking the address. "It's at this art supplies store, it's opposite that huge Walmart."

"Oh, I know that place," Bucky perked up. "It's right around the corner from my building, come on."

"I'm pretty sure I know how to get there," Steve said mildly, considering they'd most likely be walking the same way anyway.

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets, and smiled blandly at Steve. "I'm starting to think you don't like me, Rogers."

"What gave you that idea?"

"If you don't start being nice to me I'm not going to show you all my cool shortcuts."

Steve snorted. "You do not have cool shortcuts."

"I do too," Bucky said. "Anyway, how would you know what shortcuts I know?"

Steve refolded the flier, and slid it back into his pocket, feeling reckless under Bucky's gaze. "Okay, then show me the shortcuts. Wow me."

Bucky grinned at him. Steve was started to get used to his grin, bright and too wide, and a just a little crooked. Which could be a problem, though he figured he could try and avoid that. But he wouldn't today, he'd let Bucky grin, and grab his wrist, and say, "Come on." (He suspected he might be late to his class, but he ended up being ten minutes early, and Bucky hung around right up until it started).

\--

The back of the science building was a death trap. It was a blank brick wall, a small expanse of asphalt and the fence at the back of the school, not even counting the little courtyard with a tree and some surprisingly thick shrubbery between it and the shop class on one side. Freshman learnt very quickly to avoid it. Most people learnt very quickly to avoid it. Most people were not Steve Rogers. It wasn't that he didn't know it was dangerous, he rationalised. It was just the quickest way to get to the English classrooms and, given the sheer volume of people who went the long way around the front of both buildings, he was actually less likely to run into someone that he didn't necessarily want to see.

The reasoning was potentially bullshit, but he was okay with that because the only person he was bullshitting was himself.

"Hey, Rogers!" came from behind him, and he cringed, shifting his grip to the bottom of his chemistry textbook like he could use it as a club because he hadn't put it back in his bag yet. At least, he figured, it was Franklin, because he (arguably) was one of the least violent. "I'm talking to you," Franklin called.

Steve took a deep breath, held back a grimace, and turned around. The aim would be to keep from getting backed up against the fence or the science building. "I heard you," he said. "What do you want, Franklin."

Franklin grinned, and Steve reconsidered the fact that he was glad it was Franklin. Calusky and Camp, for the most part, would leave him alone until he actually got between them and someone else. Which happened all the time, sure. Franklin was the only one who would actually seek him out. "I wanted to talk to you," Franklin said, strolling closer. He had his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were loose and easy, and the whole thing was such a warning sign that Steve took a step back.

"About what?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

Franklin shrugged, stopping a couple of feet away. "A few things."

Steve nodded slowly, and then gave up on trying to hold his ground, turning towards the other end, only to find it blocked off by both Calusky and Camp. It only took a moment for him to decide, to turn back and try and dodge around Franklin, but he already knew it probably wasn't going to work. There was a brief, if violent, scuffle before Steve was pressed up against the wall, the bricks biting through his shirt. His textbook and bag were lying on the asphalt, and he could feel the trickle of blood out of his nose. He hoped, knowing it was probably in vain, that they wouldn't split his lip or give him a black eye. A bloody nose would be a lot easier to hide from his mom. Not that he particularly thought any of the trio would hold back. He gritted his teeth, and struggled against the hands holding him.

Someone said, "Hey!" and Steve looked up in time to see Franklin go down clutching his nose. Bucky shook out his hand, frowning at the pair holding Steve against the wall.

"You got a problem, Barnes?" Camp asked, letting Steve go and advancing towards him.

A bright, predatory grin crossed Bucky's face as he drew his fist back again, and Steve didn't waste time twisting to get Calusky in the balls with his knee. Two against three wasn't really much better in terms of odds, but Franklin tended to break when something actually hurt, and the other two followed him. Which left Steve with a bloody nose and Bucky with a split eyebrow standing panting behind the building.

Steve swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. "How late am I for class?"

Bucky leant down to pick up Steve's book and bag and laughed. "You're still planning on going?" He put the bag down with the book on top of it, beside Steve.

Steve pulled a face. "I guess not." He sat down, pulling a wad of tissues out of his pocket, and peeled off one, holding it towards Bucky. "It's clean," he said, in response to a dubious glance.

Bucky shrugged, took it, and sat down on Steve's other side, leaning back against the building. "Do you always go after three douchebags at a time?"

"I didn't start it," Steve said, muffled by the tissue he was pressing to his nose. "They came after me."

"Yeah," Bucky said, dabbing at his eyebrow and then studying the tissue. "This time."

"Thanks for showing up, I guess," Steve said.

"I know, you couldn't have done it without me." Bucky gave him a smug smile, which turned into a yelp Steve elbowed him hard. "I mean, you're welcome."

"Right." Steve cautiously pulled the tissue away from his face. He was pretty sure he wasn't actually bleeding anymore, but he was going to be a mess until he got to a bathroom, and there was probably blood on his shirt.

"Why'd you even come this way? it's pretty much the perfect place to get cornered."

Steve sighed. "It's also the fastest way to my next class, most of the time it works out fine. Why were you here?"

"Because it's out of the way," Bucky huffed, and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. Steve watched dubiously as he clamped one between his lips, and held up a lighter. A plume of smoke started to trail out of the end. Seeming to feel Steve's gaze, Barnes looked up.

"What?" he asked, around the cigarette.

If it hadn't been smoking Steve thought he could probably have appreciated the sight. "That's a terrible habit," he said instead.

"What is it with people always saying that," Bucky said, little puffs of smoke escaping with each word. "We know."

Steve could already smell it, already feel his throat tightening. The fight probably hadn't helped, already leaving him a little out of breath. He tugged his water bottle out of his bag, taking a swig of to ease it a little. Really he should move away. That would most definitely be the simplest way out of the situation, and the smartest. But he didn't want to. It was maybe one of the stupidest decisions he'd ever made, but then, as Bucky had said before, stupid decisions were kind of his specialty. He took another drink of water, and Bucky gave him a slightly concerned look.

"You okay, Steve?" he said, flicking ash away like it was second nature. "You look kind of odd."

"Fine," Steve said. "Just thirsty." He leant his head back, watching the smoke drift upwards, and tried to clean his throat. "You'd think if you'd know then you'd be more inclined to stop," he continued, more as a distraction than anything else.

"This is not even close to the most self-destructive thing I do," Bucky said. "And as someone who like to bait people twice your size, I really don't think you have any place to judge me at all." He always gestured as he spoke, and it sent the smoke rising in loose arcs. "If anything I should be judging you, you always go for the things that have immediate payoff, like someone punching you in the face." Steve took a breath to laugh and it rasped in his chest, and he gave up pretending and dug in his bag for his inhaler. Bucky glanced over at him, grinning, but whatever he saw on his face made the expression drop off almost instantly. "Steve?" he said, voice suddenly small.

Steve's hand finally closed on his inhaler, which was a relief because he was starting to feel like the breath wasn't making it all the way into his lungs. Of course, it still came in far enough to catch in his throat, though, and set him off. The cough started off dry, right at the top his throat, but it only took a couple of moments to deepen, wracking through his chest. The inhaler was clutched tightly in his hand, and he shook it hard, listening to the rattle. Bucky was closer, suddenly, hands on his shoulder, peering at him looking panicked as Steve finally brought the inhaler up to his mouth. He hit the button, breathed it in, trying to keep the coughing under control. But the air was starting to reach his lungs again, so even if it took a few minutes to subside, it was okay. Bucky pressed Steve's water bottle into his hand again, and Steve managed a hoarse thank you.

When he opened his eyes Bucky was still hovering over him, looking pale and still a little panicked. When Steve looked past him he could see the cigarette stamped out flat against the ground. "Are you okay?" Bucky said quietly.

Steve leant his head back against the brick, and sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Bucky stood up from his crouch and moved a couple of steps away, rubbing his hand over his face. "Okay. Okay, good." Steve watched him, standing with his hand still pressed over his mouth, staring off to the side.

He sat up a little straighter. "Buck-"

"What the hell, Steve?" Bucky blasted over the top of him, louder than Steve had ever heard him. "Seriously? You have asthma?"

Steve blinked. "Yes," he said. "Why are you yelling?"

"Are you really fucking asking that?" Bucky said, incredulously. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I said it was a bad habit," Steve pointed out.

"Oh fuck you," Bucky snapped. "Saying it's a bad habit is not the same as, oh I don't know, ''Hey buddy, I have asthma, maybe don't smoke around me because I might die.'"

"I wasn't going to die," Steve protested, but Bucky didn't even seem to notice.

"I cannot fucking believe that you were just trying to scold me for being self-destructive," he pointed towards Steve. "You are the biggest hypocrite I know, and I've known a lot of hypocrites."

"We were having a nice conversation," Steve said.

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Steve shrugged. He'd mostly gotten his breath back during Bucky's tirade. "If I said something you'd have to go away."

Bucky stared at him for a moment before walking over and sitting heavily next to him. "You're an idiot."

"You've said," Steve said, unable to talk the heat in Bucky's voice seriously when he was sitting so close their shoulders touched.

"I would've stubbed it out and smoked it later," Bucky said. "You're an idiot, and you made me waste half a cigarette."

Steve chuckled. "You're such a jerk."

\--

The news came out in homeroom, and Steve fought the urge to drop his head to his desk and groan; Tony Stark was coming back to town. Briefly, obviously, and Steve was pretty sure Stark didn't actually want to come back, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. It wouldn't really mean anything except Stark had gone to their school, however briefly. So, as schools tended to do, it had laid claim on his genius. And now Tony 'I started college at 14' Stark was going to be taking an assembly to talk about... Steve wasn't sure. He didn't think the teacher was particularly sure either. But whatever it was, the Junior class had fourth period off on Thursday to listen to it. There was even a flier, printed on bright yellow paper, to take home. Steve shoved his in his bag without worrying about it crumpling.

"Who even is this Stark kid?" Bucky grumbled, looking at his own flier, which he'd flattened out from a ball in his pocket. Unsurprisingly, It was a little worse for wear.

Steve blinked. "Weren't you here?"

"I started here Sophomore Year," Bucky said, before mock sighing. "I thought you'd noticed me."

"That explains a lot," Steve sighed. "Stark was here for about three months in Freshman year. He was in my homeroom. But then he got his GED and got three colleges clamouring after him, and so he left."

Bucky picked up his fork and poked at the casserole on his lunch tray. "Doesn't explain why he's got an assembly in his honour."

"He's a success story," Steve said, looking forlornly at his tray.

"Was he really that much of a douche? You look like someone shot your dog."

Steve glanced up. Bucky shoveled a forkful of casserole into his mouth and shrugged. "We didn't get on," he explained, because that seemed like the simplest way to explain it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed but he was too busy chewing to protest.

\--

Stark was one of the first people Steve saw that Thursday; he was sitting on the fence beside the school gate, a smug grin plastered across his face. He perked up visibly when he spotted Steve.

"Rogers! Long time no see!"

"Stark." Steve nodded, and held onto a vain hope that that would be the end of the conversation.

It didn't go his way; Stark slid off the fence and fell in beside him. "So, how've you been?"

Steve noticed, with a small amount of vindictive pleasure, that Tony hadn't grown that much taller. "Fine," he said. 'How's college?"

"Oh, it's great," came the blustery reply. "You can't even imagine. I mean, I'm sure you will one day, but you won't be studying engineering so there won't be as many explosions."

"I don't think explosions are really my thing," Steve said. Someone jogged past, knocking Steve solidly into Stark's shoulder.

Stark, surprisingly, steadied him. "Was that Calusky?" he asked, mildly, "Or was it Camp, I never really got the hang of telling them apart."

"It's a surprisingly useful skill," Steve said, stepping away.

Tony smiled and it was almost friendly. They fell into step again. "So, still getting into fights in History?"

Steve felt the scowl spread over his face. "Are you?"

"I don't have to take history anymore,' Tony scoffed. "Which is great, considering it's an almost useless subject, and now I can focus my gaze forward.

Steve turned his head to glare. "You are such an ass," he said.

"No, i'm charming," Tony said. "So, how's things? How's your mom?"

"Have you even ever met my mom? Steve asked.

"Of course I've met your mom," Tony said, sounding almost scandalised. "She treated me for minor chemical burns at least three times. She's a very good nurse."

Steve rolled his eyes. "How are your parents?"

"They exist," Tony said airily. "Really, since I left for college, I feel like I've outgrown them."

"They did not let you stay in a dorm when you were fourteen," Steve scoffed.

"Maybe not," Tony said. "But that doesn't mean I haven't found ways to get the full college experience."

Steve stopped at his locker, and Tony leaned easily on the one next to him. "Is this where you confess the engineering thing's a front and you actually dropped out because you spend all your time learning how to make jagerbombs?"

Tony laughed. "I have so much to teach you," he said. "Firstly how simple jagerbombs are to make."

"Who's making bombs?" Bucky asked, appearing at Steve's shoulder, and staring at Tony with an odd look on his face.

Tony, who would never lose an opportunity to attempt to charm someone new, held out his hand and smiled. "Tony Stark, nice to meet you."

"Bucky Barnes," Bucky said, shaking his hand. A small smile started to steal over his face, and he looked at Steve with a mildly amused expression on his face. "You didn't say you knew him."

"I said we were in a few of the same classes," Steve pointed out, trying to ignore Bucky's bait, though he was starting to feel tempted to step on his foot.

"Classes, detentions, arguments," Tony said, "Have you been acquainted with Rogers' temper yet? It's a sight to see."

"I don't think anyone hasn't been," Bucky said, looking steadily more amused. He kicked Steve's ankle lightly. "Hey, did you do the calculus homework?"

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his last book in his locker and shutting the door. "I'm not in your calculus class."

"Right," said Bucky. "Shit."

"Give me a good reason and I might be able to help you with that," Tony said.

Bucky gave him a considering look. "Any friend of Steve's...?"

"No," Tony snorted. "Rogers and I are not friends. Try again."

Steve groaned. "Tony, don't reward him for not doing his homework."

Tony grinned. "That works. When's your class?"

"Third period," Bucky said.

"I'll have it done by first, come on." And with that Tony walked off. With another glance at Steve, Bucky followed.

Steve wrinkled his nose and started off towards his homeroom.

\--

As it turned out, Tony was in town until the end of the weekend. His parents weren't actually home - or they didn't care, Steve was never sure - and so Tony was doing what he claimed Starks did best. Throwing a party. Normally Steve wasn't even the type to go, but Bucky wanted to, and Tony had needled at him until he'd said yes, so he and Bucky caught a bus over. Bucky was in good spirits; he had a backpack slung over his shoulder that kept making light clinking noises, and he kept shifting restlessly.

"You probably didn't need to bring your own, Stark'll have plenty to drink," Steve said.

"You sound so excited about that," Bucky said. "I just wanted to make sure."

Steve huffed, slouching into his seat.

Bucky looked at him. "So, what's up with you and Stark?" he asked. "You act like you hate him, and then you follow him around."

"I do not follow him around," Steve said indignantly. "He's just always there."

"You're going to his party."

"Yeah," Steve scowled. "Because you really wanted to go"

"Oh, come on," Bucky smiled, "It wasn't just me."

"Don't look so pleased," Steve grumbled.

"You'll have fun," Bucky said. "I'll make sure it happens."

Tony's house was just like Steve had expected it; full of people and loud music. No matter what Bucky said, it wasn't exactly Steve's idea of a good time. Also, despite what Bucky said, he wasn't spending that much time around Steve. Sure, he kept coming back to Steve, but every time he had his arm around a girl (a different one almost every time), and Steve didn't even want to know where he was the rest of the time. Even if he had the will to go look for him, which he didn't. He was sticking to his corner, with the same drink Bucky had poured him when they first walked in. Moving did not seem like something that he wanted to do.

"Rogers!" someone crowed, and Steve cringed. He really wasn't sure if it was good or bad that Tony was practically bouncing towards him with a pleased look on his face. "How long have you been hiding in a corner?"

"How long have I been here?" Steve said, by way of an answer.

"I don't know," Tony snorted. "I don't even know how long I've been here. Stop being a party pooper, come on." And with that he hooked his arm around Steve's shoulders and managed to use that as a lever to pull Steve out "Finish your drink, you're being no fun," he said, with a puff of hot breath directly into Steve's ear.

"I'm not that sad about that," Steve said, but he sighed and threw back the rest of the drink anyway, wrinkling his nose at the malty taste underneath the coke.

"Good boy," Tony said smirking. "Now, have you ever done a shot?"

Steve hadn't, and the burn down his throat made him cough and splutter. But it wasn't a deep cough, and the warmth was almost satisfying. And, anyway, Tony was watching him with a challenging look on his face, and Steve was really, very bad at backing down from challenges. Especially if they came from someone as smug as Stark had the tendency to be. After a couple he wasn't even sure why he'd thought this was a bad idea. It wasn't like he was having trouble walking straight, or talking, he just felt warm and relaxed. Tony had disappeared at some point, he wasn't sure exactly when but he had a vivid memory of a sloppy kiss on the cheek. But he had another drink in his hand - coke again though he wasn't entirely sure what, if anything, had been added, because he couldn't taste the malt that he'd been able to before. But that wasn't really a bad thing, so he was perfectly happy with keep drinking it, sitting on a stool in Tony's stupidly large kitchen.

"Wow, who got to you?" a voice carried from the arch that linked the kitchen and the dining room, and Steve looked over to see Bucky leaning against it. He was alone, jacket slung over his shoulder and hair messy, and he was staring at Steve with a soft look on his face. It was maybe the best thing that Steve had ever seen, and it took a moment to tell himself he probably shouldn't say that.

Instead he grinned, and answered, "Stark."

"I should have known," Bucky said, strolling over. He dumped his jacket on the bench next to Steve, and pulled himself up onto a stool. They were facing each other, knees knocking together. This close Steve could see there was a glassy cast to Bucky's eyes, but it didn't seem to matter when he was looking at him like he was. Like there wasn't anything he'd rather be looking at. "Are you at least having fun now?"

Steve shrugged pulling a face, even though he kind of was. "You said you'd make sure I would."

"Yeah, I guess I kind of ditched you," Bucky said, knee pressing a little harder into Steve's. "Sorry."

"That," Steve said, kicking out at his leg, "Is the worst apology I've ever heard."

Bucky caught Steve's foot in between his ankles, and refused to let it go. "That is such a lie. I know because I've given you worse ones before."

"I'm pretty sure it's topped the list," Steve said, trying fruitlessly to tug his foot free.

"Okay, whatever," Bucky said agreeably. "So, what did Stark have you drinking?"

"Shots," Steve said. "Of... tequila?"

"I missed you doing shots?" Bucky crowed, rocking back a little in excitement. "Oh man, now I'm even more annoyed at myself."

"You should be," Steve said, giving up on getting his foot back. "But I could do another."

Bucky cocked his head, a considering look stealing over face. He slid of the stool, stepping close enough that he was standing in between Steve's legs. Steve's breath caught, all he could do was look back into Bucky's eyes. He was close enough to feel Bucky's breath on his face, close enough that when he shifted his leg brushed against Bucky's hip. "Yeah," Bucky said, still looking considering. "You probably could. Do you want to?"

Steve licked his lips, vaguely certain the Bucky could ask him to eat dirt right then and he probably would. "Yes," he said.

Bucky grinned, and his gaze flickered down for a moment, but then he stepped back, turning towards the bench and reaching out for the right bottle. Steve slumped a little to the side so he had a better angle to watch as Bucky plucked two new shot glasses from the stack of plastic disposable ones, and poured them both. "Did Stark teach you the lemon and the salt?" he said, sliding one of the shots towards Steve.

"Yeah," Steve said, "But I think he took the lemons with him." His heart was pounding a little harder than it should have been, he though. He wanted Bucky to step closer again.

"Doesn't matter too much," Bucky said. "It's fine without." He picked up the other shot, grinning at Steve. "We doing this?"

Steve grinned back and straightened, picking up his own. "Yeah."

"Awesome," Bucky said. "On three."

Steve pulled a face, but he managed not to cough, and Bucky looked so pleased he didn't mind. "So, where have you been all night?" he asked, bracing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward.

"Here and there," Bucky said. "A lot of places. In the house, outside the house." He drifted towards Steve a little as he spoke, and Steve smiled, straightening a little so their faces were more level. Which was when he caught a whiff of it.

"You've been smoking," he said, wrinkling his nose.

Bucky laughed, shrugging. "Yeah. It's a party. Lot of people are."

"I just don't like it," Steve said, prodding at Bucky's thigh with his foot.

"Of course you don't," Bucky said, shoving at Steve's foot with his knee to get him to stop. "You can't do it without dying."

"Technically a lot of people can't do it without dying," Steve said, putting his foot back on the rung after one last kick. "Including maybe you."

"Ah," Bucky said, nodding sagely. 'I wouldn't worry about that." He shifted closer, leaning against the bench this time, but still close enough that he was brushing up against Steve's leg. "I'm going to live forever."

"Nobody lives forever," Steve said, twisting his torso to face him.

Bucky gave him a considering look. "Well, you got me there," he said. He pushed a few bottles out of the way before pulling himself onto the bench, mimicking Steve's posture with his elbows on his thighs. Steve finished twisting around to face him. "Do you want me to quit?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "But I thought you'd think it was none of my business."

"It's probably not," Bucky agreed. His face was very close; Steve could feel his breath again. He didn't drop his gaze, and his pupils seemed huge. It had to be the dim lighting, Steve thought. "But if you want me too, maybe I should do it anyway."

"Why?" Steve asked, suddenly scared to talk too loud.

"Well, this is cute," came a voice from the doorway that clearly had no such qualms. "Rogers, Barnes."

"Stark!" Bucky said, straightening up. "Great party, man."

'That's not a surprise," Tony said, sauntering further in. "I just wanted to let you know Bruce is sober driving back to your side of town soon, if you guys need a ride."

"Bruce Banner?" Bucky perked up. "The guy who punched Thad Ross in the face before? He's sober?"

"Completely," Tony laughed. "He just really doesn't like that guy."

"Who can blame him." Bucky slid off the counter, and started towards the doorway. "I'll go ask him if he's got room."

Steve watched him go, slightly despondently. He didn't notice Tony slipping closer.

"So that is just adorable," he repeated, in a loaded voice.

Steve looked at him, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"You two," Tony grinned. "Getting all cozy in my kitchen.

"It's not like that," Steve winced.

"Ah, but you'd like it to be," Tony said, sounding gleeful. "You'd really like it to."

"No," Steve said. "No, I wouldn't, stop that." He bit his lip, wondering if Bucky had picked up on it at all.

"I refuse," Tony pulled himself up onto the stool Bucky had been on earlier. "Rogers, you're growing up, I have to enjoy this. I feel like I've missed so much."

Steve groaned. "You're ridiculous."

"I never dispute that," Tony said. "But it doesn't make me wrong. So, what are you going to do about that?"

"Nothing," Steve said. "Nothing is going on."

"Oh. come on," Tony said. "You have to do something. Just giving each other puppy dog eyes had got to get boring."

"We are not giving each other puppy dog eyes," Steve spat, cringing a little.

"No, you are," Tony said. "Get with the program."

"Banner can take us," Bucky interrupted, striding back into the kitchen. "But he's leaving now, so we'd better go. You got all your stuff?"

"Yes," Steve said, relief filling his voice, as he slid off the stool. "Bye, Tony, thanks for the party."

Tony saluted, leaning back against the bench.

Bucky slung an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Hey, Steve, can I crash at yours tonight? My mom will definitely notice me sneaking in."

"Sure," Steve said, ignoring Tony's crow of laughter behind them.

Steve had never really spoken much to Bruce Banner. He was a year above him and Bucky, and mostly kept to himself. Steve hadn't even known he was at the party. But Bucky saying he’d punched Thad Ross was not the first story of that type that he'd heard about him. So it was a little surprise when the dark haired guy who met them by his car seemed mild mannered and quiet. There was already a girl sitting in the passenger seat, so Steve and Bucky climbed in the back after thanking him. The drive was mostly silent. Steve kept looking out the window, watching the streetlights go past. He suspected Bucky was doing the same thing; he was a little surprised when he glanced over and Bucky was watching him. There was a serious look on his face, but it changed almost instantly to a smile under Steve's gaze. Steve smiled back. It was the only thing he could do,

They thanked Bruce when he dropped them off outside Steve's apartment complex, and the both did their best to be quiet as they made their way to his apartment. Which really wasn't that good, but Steve figured at least they were trying. He bit his lip as he slid his key into the lock. The clunk of it turning into place seemed obscenely loud, and he cringed as the door creaked when it opened. Bucky followed him in, close at his elbow, peering through the darkness. The crept through the halls and Steve stopped when he realized his mother's bedroom door was open."Oh," he whispered. "She must have picked up an extra shift."

Behind him Bucky snickered.

Steve took his pajamas to the bathroom to change, and brushed his teeth carefully. It seemed off having the light on, after the dim lighting in Tony's house, and then the dark streets. He finished getting ready for bed quickly, and crept back to his room, unsure exactly of what he'd find. Bucky was already on one side of his bed, under the covers, and his jeans and shoes were in a pile on the floor. He looked up when Steve shut the door, a drowsy look on his face.

"I have an art class in the morning," Steve said. "So I hope you don't mind my alarm."

Bucky shrugged. "Just hurry up and get into bed."

Steve held in a snort, setting his alarm and shutting the light off. He climbed under the covers, settling on the other side of the bed on his back.

Bucky twisted onto his side, facing him. "This is okay, right?" he said, and there was something uncharacteristically nervous in his voice.

Steve mirrored him. 'Yeah, of course," he said.

Bucky sighed. "Good." Then, without any warning, he pulled Steve into a hug, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Unaccountably pleased, Steve tentatively raised a hand and ran it through Bucky's hair.

"Mm," Bucky murmured. "That feels good."

Then there was quiet.

It turned out Steve's alarm wasn't even what woke them up; Bucky's phone started buzzing against his belt buckle at six in the morning. Steve groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and twisting further over. Bucky, who had somehow curled up so his face was resting on Steve's side, grunted and propped himself up.

"The fuck?" he grumbled, clambering over Steve and out of the bed. Steve slid onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head, unwilling to actually get up. It didn't really drown anything out. "'Lo," Bucky mumbled into the phone receiver. "Tash- what the hell?" He was speaking quietly and Steve felt himself already starting to doze again. "Shit. You- Where are you now?" Bucky's voice started to drift off. "-need me to come? ... how bad was ...'ll see you on Monday..." The bed dipped as Bucky climbed over him, and Steve woke up a little, peeking out from under the pillow.

"Everything okay?" he mumbled, blinking heavily.

"Yeah, it's fine," Bucky said, voice soft. "Nothing to worry about it."

Steve took it at face value and went back to sleep.

\--

The next morning Steve was maybe a little more aware of why he'd maybe thought drinking was a bad idea. Bucky had been pale and quiet, barely saying a word as they'd walked, though he'd insisted on walking all the way to Steve's class with him instead of breaking off a block earlier and going home. Steve didn't bother trying to protest. Bucky was stubborn at the best of times; he didn't want to push when he looked like he might throw up. Anyway, Steve felt at least as bad as Bucky looked, so he wasn't really in the mood to push. Or to eat, which meant he ended up at the class fifteen minutes early, all set up and hunched over at his easel, watching everyone else get set up. It was painful. Especially when someone dragged their easel over a few inches; the screeching sound lanced straight into his head.

Peggy, the pretty, British girl who sat at the easel next to him, gave him a considering look. "Are you hungover?" she asked.

Steve cringed. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" She smiled. "You're not a very good liar."

"I figured it was obvious and there wasn't really any point in putting effort into it," he said.

"Fair," she said. "Have you eaten anything?"

"No," he sighed. "It feels like it wouldn't stay down."

She made a considering noise, and looked at her watch. "Be right back."

He nodded, watching her slip out of the back room before turning back to his easel. The teacher was chatting with the model at the front of the room, and everyone else was focusing on their own set up. Which was nice, because it meant no one was watching him. He took a deep breath, studying the paint splatters on the ground near his foot. A few minutes later Peggy slid back into her seat next to him, and held out a bright blue sports drink and a packet of crackers.

"Try these. You don't want to be feeling that awful and doing figure drawing all morning, trust me."

"You know how awful I feel?" he asked, taking the drink and opening the bottle. He took a quick swig, and it seemed to settle into his stomach without disturbing anything. "Thanks."

"It's written all over your face," she said, peeling open the crackers and taking one before offering them to Steve. "Besides, it might surprise you, but I've been there."

"I haven't," Steve said, taking a cracker and looking at it dubiously.

Peggy stifled a laugh. "Eat it," she said. "It'll make you feel better."

The salt on the cracker actually tasted good, and to Steve's surprise he did start to feel a little better as the class started. He and Peggy passed the packet back and forth, trying to avoid the teacher's gaze, until they'd eaten the whole thing, and after the two hour class has finished Steve was feeling significantly less shitty, and significantly more hungry. The difference was enough for Peggy to find it funny, and she was laughing at him when they emerged into the sun. It took a moment for Steve to see Bucky leaning against the front wall of the convenience store next to the art shop. There was a pair of dark sunglasses on his face, his hands were shoved into his pockets, and the corners of his mouth were downturned. He straightened when Steve turned towards him, strolling over.

"You look chipper," he said as he reached them.

"You don't," Steve said, holding out the half empty sports drink. "I thought you'd still be sleeping."

Bucky accepted the drink, shrugging in answer. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding towards Peggy.

"This is Peggy," Steve said "Peggy, this is Bucky?"

Peggy smiled, extending her hand. It took Bucky a moment to take it. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"Sure," Bucky said, dropping her hand and taking a swig of the drink.

Steve frowned briefly at Bucky before turning back to Peggy. "So, I'll see you next class?"

She nodded, waving as she stepped back. "See you."

Bucky watched her go before emptying the bottle and tossing it into the trash. "How long have you two been friends?" he asked, and odd tone to his voice.

"We sit next to each other in class," Steve said, looking him up and down. "How hungover are you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Bucky scowled.

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, I'm starving. So, if you want to hang out I'm going home first so I can eat something."

Bucky's expression wavered for a moment before he grimaced. "I got paid this week," he said. "Let me shout you breakfast."

\--

Steve was on the bleachers again, and this time Bucky came walking up the stairs like a normal person, somehow scowling and chewing a piece of gum at the same time.

"This Nicorette shit is awful," he said, plopping down beside Steve and scowling harder.

Steve was beginning to think that Bucky actually thought sentences like that were good conversation starters. "What?" Bucky dug into his pocket and then held up the white and green box; Steve raised both eyebrows at the 'helps prevent urge to smoke' displayed on the front. "I don't think those'll make you feel as tough as cigarettes do."

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "At least my breath will always be fresh." He folded his hands between his knees, thumbs tapping against each other rapidly.

Steve's eyes narrowed as he watched the movement. "Why are you nervous?"

Bucky gaped at him. "I- The fuck? I'm not, I'm used to having something to do with my hands, is all."

Holding back a smile, Steve offered one of his pencils.

Bucky gave him a flat look. "I can't draw a stick figure," he said, before flopping onto his back dramatically, making his shirt ride up a little. "This tastes like ass. Minty, minty ass."

"How do you know what ass tastes like?" Steve asked, unable to keep his smile down any longer.

Bucky grinned at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" There was a buzzing noise, and he pulled a phone of his pocket, peering at the screen before hitting the end button.

Steve frowned. "Ignoring someone?"

"No," Bucky slid the phone back into his pocket, and fold his arms behind his head. "It's not even my phone, I'm just looking after it for someone."

"Is that code for 'I stole it'?" Steve asked, holding back a groan.

Bucky kicked out at his legs. "No. Asshole. It's a friend of mine's.

"You have friends?" Steve asked, mockingly. "Friends who aren't me?"

"You're way more of a douchebag than people would ever guess," Bucky complained.

Steve grinned. "So, what's with the gum? Finally got the 'smoking's dangerous' memo?"

"Ah, not exactly," Bucky shifted, propping himself up on his elbows. "I just looked at you, and all your awful, self-destructive habits and thought 'I don't want to be like that guy!'"

Steve groaned and rolled his eyes. "You are the worst."

"But you keep hanging out with me." Bucky sighed happily.

"I do not hang out with you," Steve retorted. "You follow me around."

But he was grinning when he said it, and Bucky was too.

\--

The text from Peggy came in on a Friday night; 'A couple of friends from my school and I are going to the Art Gallery tomorrow, want to come?' Short afterwards came 'Feel free to invite Bucky, if he wants to come.' Steve hadn't been to the Art Gallery in forever, and he happily agreed, before sending off a message to Bucky inviting him. 'that sound shit boring' came the first response, followed shortly by 'who's going to be there?'. When Steve replied that it'd be Peggy and some of her friends, it took a while for Bucky to respond. 'why the hell not', he said. Steve took a moment to roll his eyes before letting Peggy know that Bucky was coming too. He couldn't decipher Bucky's motivations at the best of times.

When they actually got to the gallery, with Bucky having spent almost the entire bus ride in a sullen silence while Steve and Peggy talked, it turned out only one of Peggy's friends had actually shown up. He was tall, and friendly, and introduced himself as Sam. Steve shook his hand, and Bucky gave him a dubious look. They started into the gallery and Steve sent up a quick prayer that he wouldn't be like that for the entire afternoon.

It wasn't, maybe, as bad as it could have been. The fact that they were at an Art Gallery made Bucky's mood slightly easier to deal with, because they didn't really have to stick together. They could wander through at their own speeds, looking at the things they wanted too. Steve made it to the third room before he gave in to the itch in his fingers, and sat down on a bench in front of a sculpture to pull out his sketchbook. Peggy sat down next to him as he was starting to shade in the framework he'd laid down on the page.

"You didn't get enough of that this morning?" she asked, peering at the sketch.

Steve smiled. "Not enough to cancel out this." He nodded towards the sculpture, blending a shadow out.

"I wish it was like that for me," she sighed, stretching her legs out and crossing her ankles. "My mum wanted me to take the class."

"You didn't say no?"

"I like it," Peggy said. "But I'm not very good at it. Besides, it's not so bad. I'm half convinced if we still lived in England that she'd send me to finishing school."

Steve laughed, eyes briefly catching on Bucky. He was on the other side of the sculpture, a dark frown on his face.

Peggy followed his gaze. "He doesn't look like he's having a good time."

"I don't know why he came," Steve admitted, tapping the end of his pencil against his sketchbook. "He said it sounded boring, it's really not his type of thing."

Peggy shrugged, tilting her head and studying him. "He'll have his reasons. People always do."

"He could have his reasons without being an ass about it," Steve said, looking back at his sketch.

Peggy laughed. "Probably. But where would be the fun in that?"

She stood then, moving off to look at some painting on the other side of the room. Steve looked back at the sculpture, intending to finish his drawing, but he ended up watching Bucky instead. He was still standing in the same place, on the other side of the room, with his hands shoved into his pockets. As Steve watched he pulled his phone out, and checked it, staring for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket. Slowly, he strolled over to where Steve was sitting.

"I have to go meet a friend," he said, "Sorry."

Steve gave him a flat look. "You haven't exactly been good company."

"I know," Bucky looked down. "Sorry. Again."

"It's okay," Steve sighed. "Go meet your friend. I'll see you Monday?"

"Sure," Bucky said, turning and walking back towards the front entrance of the gallery.

Steve stared at the half-finished drawing for a moment before shutting his sketchbook and standing to keep browsing. A few rooms later he ended up standing in front of the same portrait as Sam, who had his arms folded and was staring at it with a serious look on his face. The painting was dark, though Steve was fairly sure that was at least partially due to its age. In it a girl in a dark dress sat on a bench. Her skin and hair were the only light points.

"Can I ask you a question, man?" Sam said after they'd been standing side by side for a few moments. "Do you have any idea what this shit means?"

Steve stifled a laugh. "I'm pretty this one's just a portrait."

"Well, yeah," Sam said. "But there's all this other shit. Like that thing." He nodded towards the next painting on the wall, which was some sort of landscape done all in reds. "I don't get any of it."

"Not really your type of thing?" Steve asked, moving over to get a better look at the landscape.

Sam followed. "Not really."

"Why'd you come then?" Steve asked. '"If you don't mind me asking."

"It's fine," Sam said, with a grin that said he knew why Steve was asking. "I came for the company. It didn't look like it was your friend's thing either."

"Yeah, I don't really know why Bucky came," Steve said. "But he's gone already."

"I saw him leave," Sam said, glancing at Steve. "What was going on there?"

"Don't ask me. He said he had to meet someone."

Both of Sam's eyebrows raised. "Huh?"

Steve frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," Sam said. "Probably nothing."

Steve stared at him for a moment. "You're worse than he is."

Sam laughed, moving to the next painting. "I could well be."

\--

On Monday Bucky acted like Saturday had never happened. It wasn't the worst reaction he could have had, but it was frustrating. He sat next to Steve like usual, and chattered like usual, and the only sign anything was wrong at all was when he asked slightly stonily how the rest of the afternoon had been. For a moment Steve thought about confronting him, but he just said it was fun and left it at that. It could have just been a mood, after all, and things were okay, so he didn't want to make them worse. Which worked up until school finished, and Bucky started walking out of school Steve's way.

"Why are you coming this way?"

Bucky blinked at him for a moment. "I'm going to be walking this way for a while," he said.

Steve frowned. "Why?" he repeated.

Bucky shifted his bag into a better position on his shoulders. "I'm helping out a friend of my mom's," he said, after a few moments. "Gardening and shit. For some extra change." He looked straight ahead, thumbs drumming on the straps of his bag.

"How long for?" he asked, instead of trying to outright confront him.

"As long as there's work," Bucky said. "I could use the money."

"Right," Steve nodded. "Are you okay? You sound kind of weird."

"I'm fine," Bucky said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Steve decided to hold back the 'You've been acting weird lately' for another day. A couple of blocks away from Steve's apartment complex, Bucky broke away. Steve let him away with a wave. Then he blew out a slow breath, and kept walking home. He really didn't think Bucky could keep a secret from him for that long.

\--

Between the phone and the sneaking off, Bucky had been acting weird for almost three weeks. It had taken maybe ten days for Steve to figure out that he was sneaking off to a row of shops a few blocks away from Steve's mom's house. There was a convenience store, and a hairdressers, and a bottle store, and then the last in the row was empty. It had been a video rental store, but that had gone out of business, and no one had taken the building. It'd been sitting with the front window all boarded up, and a dusty for rent sign, for a couple of years. Only there was a broken window into a back room, and Bucky had been sneaking through. Steve wanted to sneak in after him, but Bucky had been acting so cagey about it that it made him nervous. So he just followed him, and it took almost a week for Bucky to notice. He froze, tense, hand on the windowsill he'd been about to clamber onto. For a moment they were both still, and then Steve took pity on the dull panic on Bucky's face, and stepped further out where he'd be able to see who it was. Almost instantly Bucky started to look sheepish, rather than scared, and he stepped away from the window. Slowly, Steve walked forward until he was only a few feet away.

"Why are you breaking into an empty shop?" he asked. "Again?"

Bucky cringed. "How long have you known I've been coming here?"

"About a week," Steve said. "What are you doing?"

"Um," Bucky said. "I've just been coming here."

Steve raised both eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because it's quiet?" Bucky said.

"You hate quiet," Steve said, which was only partially true, but he figured Bucky saying it like a question deserved being shut down. "Want to try again."

From inside there was a scoffing noise. "James, how did you manage to get worse at lying?" A girl with dark red hair walked up to the window, leaning out to look at Steve. "I'm Natasha."

Steve walked closer, extending a slightly wary hand. "Steve." Natasha had a firm grip, and an even gaze, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little unnerved. He looked at Bucky. "So, you.. didn't want me knowing you were sneaking off to see your girlfriend?"

Bucky spluttered and went bright red, starting to stammer at the same time as Natasha laughed, and said, "I told you so."

"She's not," Bucky managed. "She's just a friend."

Steve looked back at Natasha. The smile made her look a little less intense, and he realized her hair was unwashed and there were a couple of smudges of dirt on her face. "James and I were in foster care together," she said.

Steve frowned. "Are you living here?"

Natasha's eyes widened and she glanced at Bucky, who shrugged and said, "Told you he was smart." He turned to Steve. "She got taken out of the house right around about the time they found my mom. But she managed to get in contact with me again. The place she's been is... not great. So I've been helping her get out." He looked back at Natasha who was watching him with a warning look on her face. "We can trust Steve."

Natasha pulled a face, but looked back at Steve. "I turn eighteen in another month," she said. "I just couldn't stay there any longer."

"I've been letting her into my house to shower and shit," Bucky said. "But Becca's been sick, so my mom's been at home looking after her."

Steve checked his watch, considering. "My mom's on night shift," she said. "She'll be gone by now, won't be home until late. You can come to mine."

Bucky beamed at him, and Natasha turned further inside. "Thank you," he said, as they waited.

Steve shrugged, hoping it said to not to worry about it, as Natasha hopped out the window. He stayed quiet as he led the way to his house. He wasn't the only one; Natasha barely said a word. He got the impression that she was watching him as carefully as he was watching her. Or watching Bucky and her. He'd never heard anyone called Bucky James and not get any reaction. But he hadn't even looked up. He was the only one who seemed interested in keeping up a conversation, even if he never quite made it to babbling. Steve couldn't help but wonder how he was keeping up the momentum, considering he wasn't getting much more than one word answers out of either of them.

Luckily his apartment complex wasn't far away.

Steve went in first, unlocking the door and checking around the rooms to make sure his mom had actually gone to work, before going back to the door and letting them in. He pointed Natasha towards the bathroom and she disappeared with a tight smile. For a few moments Steve stared down the hall, before turning towards the kitchen and opening cupboards. Bucky followed, staying in the doorway to watch.

"What you doing?" he asked.

Steve kept sorting through cans. "What's she eating?" he asked.

Bucky shifted closer. "She had a bit of money saved up. I make a little at the store, we've been getting by."

Steve glanced up, a can of vegetable soup in hand. "So, burgers and chicken?"

"I guess," Bucky grinned. "She's good. Most of the time she gets the burgers that have salad in them."

Steve rolled his eyes, and opened a drawer to get a pot out. Bucky watched as he lit a hob on the stove, and poured the soup in, fetching a wooden spoon at Steve's request.

"I didn't know you could cook," he said, handing it over.

"Could you rinse this too?" Steve asked, holding out the empty can. "And I can't. I'm heating tinned soup, it's not exactly gourmet."

"Better than I could do," Bucky countered as he turned the tap on.

Steve snorted. "Bucky, you can absolutely turn a stove on and stir soup until it's hot."

"I'm pretty sure I could still set it on fire." Bucky opened the cupboard below the sink and dropped the can into the recycling without being asked.

"That's because you'd do it on purpose," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

Bucky laughed, but before he could say anything Natasha spoke from the doorway. "Good to see someone else knows him that well." Her hair was wet, curling slighting on her shoulders, she was wearing a shirt that Steve was pretty sure was Bucky's, and holding her backpack in front of her. Her eyes flickered to the stove.

"It'll probably be a few minutes," he said, poking the spoon into it. "There's a laundry room in the complex, Bucky can show you where it is if you want."

"Thanks," she said.

Bucky walked over to bump his shoulder in against Steve's. Steve glanced up. "Hungry?" he asked. "Get another can out of the cupboard."

\--

The next day Bucky met Steve on the street when Steve left for school, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waited. Steve frowned, walking up to met him. He wasn't sure how early Bucky would've had to get up to get to his complex before Steve left. As he got closer he spotted some dirty marks on his jeans that made it make a little more sense.

"You stayed with Natasha last night?" he asked.

"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "I went home to shower and change, and then snuck back out. It doesn't feel great leaving her all alone there, y'know?"

"Makes sense," Steve said. "She's definitely pretty."

Bucky snorted. "I told you she wasn't my girlfriend." Steve threw him a look, and he spread his arms wide. "Why is this so unbelievable to you?"

"You're helping her hide in an abandoned building," Steve pointed out.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "If it makes you feel better, I'd help you hide in an abandoned building too." At Steve's disbelieving look he laughed. "Me and Nat were really close when we were in the same home. But we're just friends."

"If you say so," Steve said. "So, you were on this side of town, and just decided to walk me to school?"

"I'll carry your books too if you like," Bucky grinned. "I just wanted to say thanks again. For being cool about everything."

"Everything?" Steve gripped the straps of his backpack.

"You know," Bucky said. "Seeing a teenager living in an old shop, and making sure she had something to eat instead of telling her to go back to her house."

Steve shrugged. "She ran away. Must have a reason."

Bucky grinned at him. "Still. Thanks."

The sheer weight of Bucky's smile was making Steve feel almost uncomfortable, so he changed the subject. "I can't believe you didn't tell me. I also can't believe you thought I wouldn't notice you breaking into somewhere that's two blocks from my house on a daily basis."

Bucky's nose wrinkled up. "Hey."

"You do a lot of posturing, but I think you'd actually make a terrible criminal," Steve continued. "You didn't even notice me following you."

"Well, you managed to follow me for a week and have no clue Nat even existed," Bucky pointed out, like it would reclaim his dignity.

"I'd give that one to Natasha, not you," Steve said. "I thought about hanging around to confront you after you came out. But I was never sure how long you'd be, and it got boring."

"You're not that impatient," Bucky said.

"Obviously not." Steve smiled. "So, is that what you've been doing? Spending time with her?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. "We had a lot to catch up on. And she gets kind of bored, there aren't that many places to go during the day."

Steve nodded, considering it for a moment. "I never knew you were a foster kid," he said, hoping he wasn't prodding anything.

"I'm not. Anymore," Bucky said. "My parents split up when I was eleven. Becca chose Mom, and I chose dad. But then my dad died, and I spent like a year in the system. It took them a while to track my mom down, I guess. Me and Nat were in one home together."

"Is that why you only came here last year?" Steve asked.

"Got it in one," Bucky shot him a quick smile. "I moved in with mom and Becca, and the rest is history."

"Must have been weird." Steve frowned. He couldn't imagine living with anyone other than his mom.

Bucky shrugged. "You get attached to people. Like Natasha. She keeps talking about this kid called Clint who was in the last house with her. Like she's gonna try and get him after her birthday."

"Why'd she leave without him?"

"He's our age. Figured it'd be a lot harder to hide with two of them, especially if he's sixteen." Bucky huffed. "Anyway, I think it was worse for girls."

Steve nodded slowly. "Will she be able to get him out."

Bucky shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "But I'd put money on Natasha being able to do pretty much anything."

There was a wistfulness in his voice that made an uncomfortable feeling spark in Steve's stomach. He pulled his bag tighter against his back and tried to ignore it.

Bucky looked at him. "Why so curious?"

"Well, it's a pretty weird situation," Steve said, without meeting his gaze. "Just... trying to figure it out, I guess."

"So, have you?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Bucky grinned. "Natasha likes you, by the way. She's not wordy at the best of times, but she approves."

"Approves of what?" Steve frowned.

"Our friendship. I think she gets worried that I don't have very good taste in people."

"An argument could probably be made," Steve said.

Bucky snorted. "Don't you start."

"I'm not starting anything."

"I've heard you say that before, and you've been lying every time," Bucky said, swerving a little so their shoulders bumped. "Now stop it."

Steve shoved him back, and the momentum carried them all the way to school.

\--

"Are you doing anything after class today?" Peggy asked, not looking up from where she was frowning at the sketch on her easel.

It took a moment for Steve to pull his head out of his own work and think. "Um." Bucky hadn't said anything about meeting him, and he was still looking for a job, so he didn't have any kind of work. "No. Why?"

"My dad's cleaning out the garage, and I don't want to go home because he'll make me help," she answered, pulling a face. "Want to do something?"

"Sure," Steve said, trying to erase a smudge his hand had left on the paper. "Like what?"

"A movie?" she said. "My shout, considering you're being my excuse."

Steve looked over at her and grinned. "Sure."

They managed to get into a one o' clock showing, with the theatre half full, Peggy led the way to their seats holding a soda, while Steve followed with the popcorn bucket that she'd laughed when he'd insisted on buying. It was too early for the trailers to be starting, the theatre lights were still up. They sat down, and Peggy took a handful of popcorn. She grinned at him and shrugged when he looked at her.

An idea, that if he was being honest with himself should have struck him sooner, started to curl into the back of his mind. "Is this a date?" He blurted out before he could stop himself. Surprisingly, he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the idea. He liked Peggy, sure, but this was. Different.

Peggy's face screwed up for a moment. "I hate dates," she confessed. "And I don't know. Can we call it a movie, and leave it at that?"

"Sure," Steve said. He really wasn't sure where that left them.

Which didn't actually seem the matter. The movie started, and they ate the popcorn, and Peggy shared her soda when the salt dried out Steve's mouth. When it finished they started walking back towards the art store, more out of habit than anything else. A late afternoon chill was slipping into the air, and they kept their hands shoved into their coat pockets. The movie kept the conversation flowing right up until they got to the store, and then it petered out while they stood outside.

"I had fun," Steve offered.

"So did I," Peggy said, giving him a scrutinizing look. It would have affected him more, only his phone buzzed in his jeans, and he pulled it out to check it.

It was Bucky, asking what he'd been doing, and Steve answered that he'd been with Peggy before slipping his phone back into his pocket and glancing up. "About the date thing," he started, feeling like he should say something.

"You're not interested?" she said, and amused cast falling over her face.

"No?" Steve said. "I mean, yes. I mean... You're great."

Peggy stifled a laugh. "We're friends," she said. "I agree."

"Good," Steve said, relieved. "That's great."

He'd walked all the way home before he realized that he'd never gotten a reply from Bucky. He checked his phone, to make sure that he hadn't missed it buzzing, but there wasn't anything there. Frowning, he tapped out another message asking about Bucky's day. When he was sober, Bucky was generally a prompt replier, and Steve was fairly sure he wouldn't be drunk at six in the evening. There wasn't any point dwelling on it, so he did his best to put it aside while he and his mom ate dinner. And then while he tried to focus on writing an essay outline, and then while he was getting ready for bed. Before he shut off the light, he sent off another message, against his better judgment.

'Are you getting any of these?'

\--

It was a weird situation, knocking on the window of an empty shop. Sure, it was around the back and Steve was pretty sure that no one would be able to see him, but it still didn't feel right. He didn't even have any way of knowing that Natasha was there; she could be anywhere. Even if she was staying there, she probably wasn't inside all the time. She could even be with Bucky, wherever he was. Steve's irritation flared at the thought, and he tried to push it down. He didn't do a very good job of it. After all, there were actual reasons that Bucky could've stopped texting back. But he hadn't all day. Which, if Steve included the day after Tony's party, made three times Bucky had acted really fucking weird around Peggy, and Steve was starting to get very sick of it. He'd been trying, very hard, to give Bucky to benefit of the doubt. But he was running out of patience.

Natasha appeared at the window, frowning. "Steve?"

"Hi," he said. "Sorry to bother you."

"It's fine," she said. "I'm not doing anything interesting. What's up?"

"I just wanted to check if Bucky was here actually," Steve said. 'He's not texting me back."

Natasha smiled suddenly, like Steve had said something funny. "Really? He's not here now, but he was earlier."

It wasn't really confirmation but Steve scowled anyway. "Did he say anything about his phone not working?"

"Nope," she said, stepping away from the window. "Want to come in, by the way?"

Steve huffed, and braced his hands on the window to climb inside. The room was full of dust, but Natasha had cleared away most of the cobwebs. There was a pile of blankets in a corner. A camping lantern cast a dim glow around the room; there was a paperback abandoned next to it. "Thanks," he said, already feeling dust catching in his throat. Natasha gave him a challenging look, like she was waiting for him to say something else. He answered her with a sneeze.

"Bless you," she said, raising and eyebrow.

He shrugged. "I think he's acting weird about Peggy."

She snorted. "You two are a picture, you know that?"

"What?" he blinked at her.

"Nothing," she said, with a wide eyed, innocent look on her face.

He shot her a suspicious look out of principle. "The last couple of times I thought it could just be coincidence, but it's getting annoying."

"Annoying is James' specialty," she agreed. "I'm sure you have your moments too."

Steve pulled a face in acknowledgement. "Probably."

"I mean, he's told me how you keep hinting that we're dating," she said, lightly.

Steve blushed before he could stop himself. "It makes sense," he said, trying to defend himself.

"That excuses the first time."

Steve winced looking down. "I guess. I'll stop."

"I'm not as bothered as James is," she said. "He's the one who really has a problem."

"Why do you call him James?" Steve asked. "He told me he hates it."

She gave him a frank look that told him that his attempt at changing the subject had not gone unnoticed. "Bucky's a terrible nickname," she said. "It sounds like something you'd call a dog. James deals with it."

Steve snorted. "And he's okay with dealing with it?"

"Of course," Natasha smiled. "Now, are you done with the me and James thing?"

"Yes," Steve groaned. "I get it, nothing's going on."

"Thank you," Natasha looked pleased. "You really should tell him why you cared so much, though."

Steve's attention flipped completely to her, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "I- What are you talking about?"

Her expression was calm and smooth. She was watching him with a direct gaze. "Steve," she said. "The way you look at him."

He fought the urge to splutter and over deny, and the panic considering she'd only seen them together the one time. He dropped his head, so he didn't have to meet her gaze anymore. "That obvious, huh?" he managed.

"If you know what to look for," she said.

"Does Bucky know?" he asked, feeling the stress rise thick in the back of his throat.

Natasha laughed, which seemed completely at odds with the tension Steve was feeling. "James wouldn't know what to look for if it hit him with a baseball bat. Especially when it comes to you."

"Good," Steve said. "I don't want him to know."

Natasha made a frustrated noise. "Yes, you do," she said. "You're just too scared to actually face it."

Steve scowled, looking back in as the panic became indignation. "I'm not scared."

Natasha raised both eyebrows, unaffected by the scowl. "Then tell him."

"He doesn't need to know," Steve protested.

"Doesn't he deserve to?" Natasha asked.

Steve folded his arms, huffing. "Not if he's ignoring me." Then his inhale caught a little too much dusk put, and he sneezed. Five times.

Natasha clapped a hand over over mouth, stifling a giggle. "Allergies?" she asked, a few moments later, apparently unaffected by Steve's glare.

"Be happy It's not an asthma attack," he grumbled, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"No," Natasha said, suddenly serious. "You're not allowed to die when it could conceivably my fault, James would never forgive me."

She stood, walking over and pulling him towards the window. He struggled, but without much intent, considering it was probably a good idea. "Where are we going?"

"Let's go for a walk," she said. "We can talk about what you're going to say to James tomorrow."

\--

Steve really thought about doing what Natasha said. He really did. After all, she had a lot of good points. And she was approaching the whole situation from a mostly neutral viewpoint. The way she talked about it made him almost feel hopeful about the result of the potential conversations. That hope was fluttering with his pulse when he went to school on Monday. He'd thought about what he was going to say, how he could bring the topic up, how to keep his courage up. It was too planned out for him to back out of it, really, even with how much there was at stake. And then he actually got to school, and Bucky was leaning against the front fence, leather jacket on, peering at his phone. He looked up when Steve stopped in front of him, smile spreading wide and familiar across his face. And Steve scowled.

"So, why were you ignoring me?" he asked.

Bucky's smile disappeared. For a moment he looked honestly confused, before his scowl matched Steve's. "What the fuck, dude?"

"You haven't been replying to my messages since Saturday," Steve said. "After you asked me what I was doing."

"I was busy," Bucky protested, sliding his phone back into his pocket and crossing his arms. "Why are you being such a bitch about it?"

Steve bridled. "Seriously? That's how you want to respond to this?"

"It's the truth," Bucky said. "Sometimes I just don't have time."

"You started the conversation," Steve snapped. "And then when I answered you fucked off. Want to explain whatever your problem is?"

"I don't have a problem," Bucky said, pushing off the fence. "But I might if you keep accusing me like this."

"Really? 'Cause you act weird every time I'm around Peggy," Steve said, bringing his voice down to a hiss, and stepping closer. "So, whatever it is. It has something to do with her."

"Aren't you fucking presumptuous," Bucky spat, voice just as low and angry as Steve's. "I don't give a shit about your friends."

"Fine,then explain what you do give a shit about." Steve felt his fingernails dig into the palms of this hands. "Because clearly there's something."

"There's nothing," Bucky said. "Not one fucking thing. Are you done?"

Steve wanted to say 'not until you explain.' He wanted to push. He was fuming. And Bucky was staring at him with a furious look on his face, arms still crossed. He looked defensive, and Steve knew there wasn't really any chance of him getting anything out of him. He unclenched his fists, and stepped back. "Yeah," he said. "I'm done." He started walking, moving through the gate and towards the school. Bucky took one step like he was going to follow him, and them stopped. Steve did his best to not look back.

\--

For the first time in months, Bucky didn't come to sit by Steve at lunch. He barely looked at him in the classes they had together. It was a distinctly odd feeling, after Steve had gotten so used to his presence. Everything seemed to take longer when he was alone. It just hadn't happened in a while. But he focused on his notes during class, and at lunch he pulled out his sketchbook. He started off aimlessly, and turned the page when the figure on the page grew dark hair and a leather jacket, lounging on the paper like it owned it. On the next page it took shape crouching in the corner, a cigarette in a gloved left hand, and Steve scowled at his pencil like it was it's fault. On the next he focused instead, bringing Natasha out of the page in stark shadows and angular lines. He shut the book dissatisfied, glancing towards the corner table Bucky had taken over despite himself. Bucky was staring at his tray, a sour expression on his face. He didn't look up. Part of Steve felt like approaching him, but he hadn't done anything. Bucky was the one who'd been ignoring him, who'd refused to acknowledge it. So he steeled himself, and stayed away.

The next day was worse. Steve realised halfway to school that Bucky must have gone to see Natasha; he was walking maybe three blocks behind. He was walking hunched over, hands deep in his pockets, obviously making an effort not to catch up. At lunchtime Steve drew Peggy, stylised with arched eyebrows and a small smile. He'd been aiming for enigmatic, but he thought it just looked flat. He was frowning at it when Bucky stormed past. He looked up too late to see the expression on his face, but his shoulders were tight and angry, and he walked out with heavy, steps. Steve saw Franklin glance at him with a considering look on his face; he did his best to ignore it by bending back over his paper.

By the time he got to his art class he was on edge, frustrated and grumpy. He hadn't seen Bucky while he was walking there. He didn't know if he'd gone to see Natasha, or if he'd specifically gone out of his way to avoid Steve by leaving early or hanging late. He really didn't want to think about, but it kept creeping into his mind. It kept his motions short and forceful while he was setting up his easel. Peggy arrived while he was halfway through, setting up her own easel quietly, and watching him with a dubious look on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, in a light voice, when he'd settled onto his stool, glaring at nothing. "Or did the paper do something to offend you?"

"I'm fine," Steve said dejectedly. Then, with much more feeling, "Bucky's being a douche."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?" she said, an odd, amused tone in her voice. "How so?"

He gave her a flat look. "You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said, "A little bit. You look so put out." She took a deep breath, smoothed out her skirt, and met his gaze. "Sorry, what happened."

Steve huffed. "He was ignoring me over the weekend, and then he wouldn't tell me why. And I got pissed off, and he got pissed off, and now he's ignoring me again."

"When did he start ignoring you? She asked.

"Saturday," Steve sighed. "He text me after the movie, and then nothing."

"He wouldn't say why?"

"No," Steve said slowly, reluctant to voice his suspicions about Bucky's opinion of her.

Peggy's eyes narrowed; he realised he wasn't going to get a chance. "But you suspect."

"Well, he's kind of got a habit of acting weird about you," he said, looking back at his pad. "But he won't admit to anything."

An odd look crossed over her face, for a moment Steve was worried that she was hurt. Then she snorted, folding her arms. "Boys. You all need to get over yourselves."

"Hey," said Steve, feeling a little defensive.

"You're not so bad," she said. "Or you haven't been. But Bucky isn't the only one who's been acting stupid around me."

"Who else?" Steve asked, curious despite himself. At least it could distract him from Bucky.

Peggy took a moment to straighten her pens, mouth thinned into a frown. "Sam. Wilson, who came to the art gallery? He's just been. Off."

"Off?"

"Really off,"Peggy sighed, turning back towards him. "He keeps blowing hot and cold. He came to the gallery, and I don't think he enjoyed it. Then he barely talked to me for two days and then acted like nothing happened. And it's been like that for weeks." She paused for a moment, tapping her finger on her knee. "I think he might... Like me. But I don't want to presume anything, I wish he'd say something."

"Really?" Steve blinked. "What do you think of him?"

Peggy blinked, looking suddenly, uncharacteristically uncertain. She turned back to her easel, fiddling with the corner of her pad. "He's very nice," she said.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Nice?"

"When he's actually talking to me," she said, without looking at him. "What do you want to do about Bucky?"

"Nothing, until he apologises," Steve said. "I'd like to talk about Sam. What are you going to do?"

"You're the one who came in here throwing things around because you were having a problem," Peggy said archly, glancing at him with an impassive look on her face. "I was fine."

Steve held her gaze. If he was anything, he was stubborn, and he wasn't intending on letting this go at all. He was already feeling better. Besides, Peggy always seemed so unflappable, it was fun seeing her trying to hide something. She was even blushing, just a little bit around the edges of her face.

"I don't know what you're trying to get me to admit," she hissed quietly, with a surprising amount of venom. "You're the one who doesn't want to admin he's in love with Barnes."

Steve was actually pleased that he'd had the conversation with Natasha that weekend; he drew back a little but managed to cover it up. "I don't why everyone's figuring that out all of a sudden," he said, "But that is not what we're talking about."

Peggy glared at him, and kept looking back. It was difficult to suppress his smile at the look on her face; he could feel it curling the edges of his mouth. He could see her expression souring at it. She scoffed suddenly, turning back the her easel. "Ugh. Fine."

"Fine what?" Steve grinned.

"Sam is- I might like him." Her lips pursed slightly, the pink in her cheeks flaring up.

"So, what's so bad about him liking you?"

"I don't know if he likes me," Peggy protested. "He just keeps acting weird."

"And you don't want to ask him."

She shot him a hard look. "Don't sound so smug, you're worse than I am."

She shrugged, still grinning, and the teacher called their attention to the front of the class.

\--

Steve was running late, and that was never a good thing. He'd had to stay behind for a few moments after Chemistry, to ask the teacher about making up for an assignment he'd had to miss because the fumes made his throat close up, and a few moments had stretched out and become longer, and so he was speeding around the back of the building because class was pretty much already starting and there wasn't a better way to get there, unfortunately. Only there probably was, because Franklin had some sophomore - Steve was pretty sure his name was Hank - backed up against the fence, and Steve really couldn't just go past that. It wasn't like he hadn't tried to ignore it, but he'd never gotten the hang of it. Besides, the kid already had scrapes on his elbows like he'd been pushed over, and really the only response to that was to wade right in.

Things progressed because they always did, and five minutes later Steve had a steadily swelling eye to match the spot on Franklin's jaw, and his face was pressing against asphalt.

"Are you done, Rogers?" Franklin spat, looming above him. "'Cause it looks like you and your boyfriend split up. I don't think he'll be coming to save you."

Steve scowled, and pushed himself up. "Good thing I don't need his help," he said, waiting for Franklin to punch him again. He wasn't disappointed.

Maybe he was waiting for it when a familiar voice called out, "Hey!" and Bucky's hands pulled Franklin away. Franklin, not one to take two to one odds, fled.

Steve pushed himself into a sitting position, and reached out to drag his bag closer to him. One of the straps was broken, he'd have to fix it up. He wiped his mouth, unsurprised when there was a red streak on the back of his hand. He'd been pretty sure his lip got split. Finally, he looked up to see Bucky watching him. He looked back down almost instantly. Bucky huffed, and crouched down in front of him.

"You can't go two days without getting into trouble," he said, in a soft voice. It was a peace offering, Steve could understand it. But it didn't feel like enough.

He shook his head. "I didn't need your help."

Bucky stood back up, a frustrated expression flashing over his face. "Are you fucking kidding me, Steve?"

"No," Steve steadied himself, and stood, shrugging the unbroken strap of his bag over his shoulder.

"Look, I know your proud, Steve, but that's no fucking reason to take on guys twice your size and act like you'll win," Bucky said, arms folded and gaze steady. "You're going to get yourself seriously hurt."

"I'm fine," Steve said, "I'll go to the nurse, and get an ice pack, you don't need to worry."

"That is so far from the point," Bucky spat, taking a step towards him and then stopped himself. "Can you just... talk to me. Just for a minute."

"What do you want to talk about?" Steve asked. "Because unless you want to explain yourself, I'm not interested."

Bucky's expression darkened. "Come the fuck on."

"No." Steve shook his head and turned, walking towards the nurse's office without looking back.

Bucky slid into place beside him. "This conversation isn't even about that."

"No, it isn't, because you won't talk about it," Steve kept his gaze forward, refusing to give in to the temptation to look at Bucky.

"Why is this such a big deal?" Bucky protested.

"Because you were ignoring me, and you won't tell me why," Steve said. "I don't get how you can't see it."

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "It just- it's better if I don't tell you. It's not important."

"Clearly, it is." The frown on Steve's face was making his lip sting. "I can't just leave it alone."

Bucky stayed quiet. When Steve risked a look at him, he was staring ahead, a deep crease between his eyebrows. Finally, he shook his head, said, "I need a cigarette," and peeled off.

Steve did his best to hide his disappointment, and kept walking towards the nurses office.

\--

"What happened to you?" Peggy hissed, concern colouring her voice, as he sat down in class the next day.

"I got in a fight," Steve shrugged. "It happens sometimes."

Peggy turned on her stool to face him. "Why?"

"This guy was picking on one of the sophomores," Steve glanced at her, a little scared of the expression on her face. "I don't like bullies."

"You don't like bullies," Peggy repeated, sounding doubtful. "Please tell me the other guy looks worse?"

"Not really," Steve sighed. His bag strap had three safety pins holding it together, and his eye had come up in a variety of colours. He'd tried to ignore Bucky staring at him in class, which wasn't really that hard because his peripheral vision on his left side was a little screwed up. "I got him good on the jaw."

Peggy rolled her eyes, but she still looked concerned. "So, what stopped him?"

"Bucky," Steve said, unable to keep annoyance from seeping into his tone.

"You don't sound very happy about that," Peggy said, archly.

Steve shrugged. "He still won't say anything about the weekend. So, I'm not, really."

"Did you at least thank him for making sure your face didn't look even more like raw meat?"

"No," Steve said, hesitating a little. "Should I have?"

"Of course you should have," she said, indignantly. "I can't believe you actually asked that question."

Steve sighed. "It's a bit late now," he said. Then, ignoring her protests, he continued. "What about you? Did you talk to Sam?"

She sat up poker straight, and said, "Maybe," dismissively.

"That means no. When are you going to do it?"

"No, it means maybe," Peggy said. "And I'm, not going to talk to you about it, not when you're being such an idiot."

"I am not," Steve protested. "He is-"

The teacher called attention before he could explain. And every time he tried to continue during class, Peggy ignored him. He was stewing by the time it was finished, angry and more than a little ashamed. But it kept him quiet as they spilled out onto the street. To his surprise, Sam was waiting outside the convenience store, and he strolled over when he saw them, an easy smile covering his face.

"Hey," he said, stopping beside Peggy, and nodding at Steve.

Steve ignored the challenging look Peggy was giving him, and nodded back. "How's it been?"

The answer was good, and apparently he and Peggy were going to a movie, so they didn't have time to chat for long. Steve watched them go, leaning against the wall of the art studio. Peggy threw him a grin over her shoulder, and he shot her a thumbs up, feeling more tired than irritated. Which turned into wariness the moment Bucky stepped out of the convenience store. There was something thin and white between his lips, and it took him a moment to notice Steve. Who was already trying to step away unnoticed, feeling oddly let down and more than a little awkward.

But there wasn't really anywhere to escape to, and Bucky spotted him within moments, a weirdly garbled, "Fuck," escaping his mouth.

Steve blinked at the odd tone, but jerked his thumb towards the art store. "Sorry. Class just finished."

"Right," said Bucky, in the same muffled voice, before reaching up to pull the end of the lollipop out of his mouth. Steve blinked, staring at it. Bucky, to his surprise, blushed a little. "They work better for my cravings than the gum does."

"Right," Steve said, before taking a step back. "I'll... see you at school, I guess."

Bucky licked his lips, shifting his weight. "Sure."

It took effort for Steve to tear his gaze away from Bucky's mouth, but once he'd turned around it was easier to walk away. Bucky didn't come after him.

\--

Natasha appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, at his shoulder while he was walking to school the next day. Steve almost jumped, giving her a wary look. She didn't look at him, just kept staring straight ahead, and small frown on her face.

"Hi," he said, when she didn't say anything.

"You need to talk to James," she answered, shortly.

Steve groaned. "Please stop there."

"He won't stop moping," she said. "It's awful. He keeps coming around looking like a kicked puppy, and if he doesn't stop I'm going to end up punching him."

"He knows what he needs to do," Steve pointed out.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "He's being an idiot. You know that. You can recognize it, because you are too."

"Hey," Steve protested weekly. "I am not."

"Did you talk to him like I told you to?" she asked.

"No."

"Then you're an idiot, and you know it." She looked at him for the first time, an irritated look on her face. "One of you needs to stop being an idiot and actually do something."

"Why does that need to be me?" Steve asked petulantly, giving up on protesting the idea. "He started it."

"Wow, mature," Natasha drawled. "That's got to feel good."

"At least Bucky and I are on the same level," he grumbled in response.

"Don't tell me there isn't any part of you that wants to get the upper hand and rub it in his face."

Steve gave her an odd look. "Not really."

"Liar." She sighed. "Think about it, at least. Do you really want to lose him because your too proud to approach him first?"

Then she turned back the way they'd came, and disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived. Steve stopped for a moment. He didn't want to lose Bucky. He really, really didn't. Even if he didn't necessarily confess, if he didn't say the things that Natasha told him he should. He didn't want to not even have Bucky as a friend. Which probably meant he'd have to talk to him. Feeling distinctly dejected, he trudged the rest of the way to school. By the time he got there, he didn't have any better of an idea of what to say. But that was okay, because he could figure that out over the weekend. He didn't have to talk to Bucky that day. Somewhat mollified, he went to his locker, and then on to homeroom. He kept his head down, and tried not to look towards Bucky's seat, even though he wanted too.

During his free period he took his sketchbook and settled cross legged on one of the benches outside the art block. He was supposed to be doing a self portrait, but everything kept coming out wonky, out of proportion, and not in a stylized way. He was erasing his third attempt, biting down on his tongue in irritation, when someone sat down on the other side of his book, casting a shadow over the page. He glanced up, sitting up straight when he saw Bucky, staring out over the courtyard with a worried look on his face.

"Hi," he said, laying down his pencil.

Bucky didn't look over. "Hi."

There was a short silence; Steve wondered if Bucky was having as much trouble working up the words as he was. "Did Natasha talk to you too?"

Bucky jerked in surprised, look at him disbelievingly. "She talked to you?"

"This morning," Steve said. "I don't think she'd very happy with us."

"No." Bucky snorted, kicking his heel into the asphalt. "I'm really sorry," he said quickly. "I just- there is a reason and I've had more than one person tell me what a moron I'm being."

"No one's surprised by you being a moron," Steve looked down at his paper. "Are you ever going to tell me why?"

Bucky winced. "Yes?" he said. "Maybe? Not at school."

"Fair enough," Steve said, smiling a little, before remembering Peggy's indignation the day before. "Um. Thanks, for Wednesday, by the way. I probably should have said that then, instead of being a dick about it."

Bucky actually laughed, looking at him with a pleased expression. "Steve Rogers, accepting help in a fight graciously? What did Nat do to you?"

"That one was Peggy, actually," Steve admitted. "She wasn't pleased with my face."

"That's not surprising, no one is," Bucky shot back.

Steve rolled his eyes, and picked up his pencil so he could jab Bucky in the side. It almost felt normal. "Don't you have class now?" he asked.

"I didn't do my homework," Bucky said. "Besides, I thought talking to you now would be nicer than doing in in front of the entire cafeteria at lunch.

Steve inclined his head. 'Fair."

"So, are we okay?" Bucky asked, quieter than before, like he was unsure about it.

Steve considered it for a few moments. "We still need to talk," he said. "But we're okay."

\--

Talking was easier said than done. Steve was pretty heavily grounded after coming home with a black eye again so he had to go directly home after school, and Bucky had work on Saturday so that closed off any possibility of catching each other outside Steve's art class. With no other excuse to get out of the house, at least on Steve's side, they didn't see each other until Monday. And that could have worked, but Steve managed to spill coffee all over himself, and ended up slipping into his seat in homeroom just a minute before the bell went. In second period Bucky pulled a face at him from his own seat; Steve was pretty sure it encompassed the entire situation. At the very least they actually managed to spend a little time together. It was nice having company in the cafeteria, even if said company was glaring at the noticeboard like it owed him money.

"What are you evan looking at?" Steve asked, after five minutes of trying to figure out what could have been offending Bucky so much.

"Haven't you noticed?" Bucky said, stabbing viciously at the pasta on his tray without looking at it. "They're starting to put up prom notices."

Steve put his fork down so he could give all his focus to an incredulous stare. "Prom? Are you kidding? Are you really that big of a cliche?"

"What?" Bucky grumbled, finally looking away from the noticeboard to look at Steve.

"What does prom even matter?" Steve said, he thought reasonably. "It doesn't really require that much emotion."

"But it's stupid," Bucky said. "And everyone cares so much about it."

"I don't," Steve said. "Why do you?"

Bucky frowned, and then turned to his tray. "It's just dumb."

"That's really not an explanation," Steve said.

Bucky shook his head. "So, when's your mom letting you free?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Another week," Steve said, cringing. "If I'm lucky. Hopefully no one decides to come after me again, if I black my other eye I'll never be free."

"At least you have a reason to be careful," Bucky said, sounding a little too pleased for Steve's taste. Then he shoved his tray away, and pulled a lollipop out of his pocket.

Steve snorted. "Are you just carrying those around now?"

"Like I said, they're a lot better for my cravings than the gum ever was," Bucky protested, unwrapping it. "You should be proud of me."

"For eating sweets?" Steve said, as Bucky popped into his mouth. His gaze drifted to where Bucky's lips pursed around the stick without thinking about it. "Yeah, sure."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, tugging it out of his mouth. His lips slid over the surface in a way Steve was pretty sure he shouldn't be noticing. "I think I detect sarcasm," he said. "How rude."

"You think?" Steve asked, trying to look away. Bucky licked his lips before placing the lollipop back in his mouth. "You must be dumb."

Bucky rolled his eyes, and elbowed him. Steve blinked, and shook himself free, turning back to look at his own tray. There was a short silence, before Bucky shifted, turning his chair so he was facing Steve. "Are you blushing?" he asked. "Why?"

Steve, who hadn't realised he was, blushed harder. "I'm embarrassed for you."

Bucky leaned closer. He was holding the lollipop to the side, turning the stick between his fingers, and his eyes were narrowed. There was the barest trace of a smirk on his lips. "Really?"

Steve did his best to keep his expression neutral as he looked up. "Always."

There was something smug in Bucky's gaze as he sat back in his seat. "If you say so," he said, popping the lollipop back in his mouth.

Steve turned back to his lunch, hoping he could keep the blush under control.

\--

Steve was finally ungrounded that Sunday. He and Bucky were pretty much back to normal. Or they would have been, if Bucky hadn't been throwing speculative looks at him when he thought Steve wasn't watching all week. He wouldn't explain either, no matter how hard Steve pushed. Which, granted, wasn't as hard as he could because they didn't get much time at school. But then it was Monday, and he was finally ungrounded, and they were finally going to have that talk. If they could figure out where to go. Bucky didn't want to risk Becca walking in on them, and Steve's mom was on a night shift so she'd be in the apartment. They hovered at the school gate, matching dubious looks on their faces.

"We could go to Nat's?" Bucky said.

"And just ask her to leave until we're done?" Steve said, doubtfully. "Besides, last time I was there I almost had an asthma attack from the dust."

"Shit, right," Bucky said, running a hand through his hair and frowning.

They stared at each other without saying anything for another minute. Steve wracked his brain, trying to think of any kind of option. Nothing seemed to present itself.

Bucky heaved a sigh. "Let's just... walk?"

Steve shrugged. "Why not?"

He let Bucky peel off and lead the way, falling into step beside him. They strolled down the road, slow the way that only happened when people weren't exactly sure when they were going. Neither of them said anything for three blocks. Steve snuck a look at Bucky, peering sideways to find him with his eyebrows furrowed, chewing on his bottom lip. The sight of it was enough to make Steve nervous.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Bucky nodded without looking at him. "Yeah."

"Are we going to talk?"

He winced slightly. 'Yeah."

Steve looked back to the front. "Okay."

They walked another block in silence before Bucky spoke again. "It's not Peggy."

Steve blinked. "What?"

"Me acting like a douchebag," Bucky said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's not a problem with Peggy. Peggy actually seems great. Which, that's probably the problem."

"The problem is that Peggy's great?" Steve prompted.

Bucky looked at him, like he was trying to figure something out. "Pretty much," he said. "You just... No one else at school really gets you."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, I guess."

"So, I never had to worry," Bucky said, like that explained everything.

Steve turned it over in his head for few moments. "You were jealous?"

"Yeah," Bucky huffed, "I guess."

Steve bit his lip. "You're my best friend, Buck," he said. "What do you have to be jealous of?" The words tastes sour on his tongue.

Bucky stopped walking, so Steve stopped too, turning to look at him. There was a frustrated expression on his face, and his hands were clenching into fists. "That's... not really it," he said, and it sounded like it was a struggle to get the words out.

"Then what was it?" Steve asked. His nerves flared brighter. Bucky's gaze didn't shift. "Bucky?"

Bucky looked away suddenly, glancing each way up the street, before darting in, crossing the distance between them with one step. He tipped Steve's face up, fingers surprisingly gentle on the point of his chin, and dipped his head to kiss him. It was light, a dry brush of lips together. Steve gasped, and Bucky was already pulling back, hand dropping back to his side. He looked almost scared, just a trace of a blush over his cheeks. Steve knew he was staring, knew he probably looked completely gormless, and that probably wasn't very comforting. "That," Bucky said, quietly, carefully. "That's what it was." Then he started to step back.

And that wasn't going to work, so Steve grabbed him by the lapels of his stupid leather jacket and yanked him back down. He pulled him a little too hard, leaning up so their foreheads bumped before he managed to get his lips to Bucky's, but that didn't actually matter once they were kissing. Both of Bucky's hands went to frame his waist this time, and Steve kept his fists clenched in his jacket, making sure their second kiss wasn't as brief. Bucky relaxed into it after just a few seconds, and Steve let his eyes slide shut. Dimly he was aware that the middle of the street probably wasn't the best location, but he couldn't really bring himself to mind too much. At least up until a car honked on it's way past, and they broke apart.

Bucky's blush was even more pronounced, and his lips were slick, and Steve swallowed hard. "So," he said, clearing his throat when it came out hoarser than he intended. "There's that too."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, before breaking out into a laugh, using the hands that were still at Steve's waist to pull him right in, chest to chest in the middle of the sidewalk. "Thank fucking god."

Steve grinned, hiding it a little in Bucky's shoulder, before looking back up at him. "So, we're a thing then?"

Bucky snorted. "That's a terrible way to put it," he said. 'But, yeah."

(The next day Bucky kissed him outside of his art class and Steve beamed so hard he barely noticed Peggy snickering at him.)

\--

"What are you doing on Saturday?" Tony Stark's voice echoed, tinny and distracted, through Steve's phone.

Steve blinked. "I have art class. Why?"

"What time does it finish?" Tony said. "We need to get suits."

"Aren't you in Massachusetts?"

"That doesn't answer my question," Tony said.

"Noon." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do we need suits?"

"I'm not missing my junior prom," Stark said. "Great, I'll see you at noon on Saturday."

He hung up before Steve could ask anything else. Steve blinked dumbly at his phone screen. Then he opened it up to text Bucky.

'I think Tony Stark just asked me to prom'

Less than a minute later his phone buzzed. 'WHAT.'

But, when he got out of his art class, Tony was leaning against a car right outside the door. Bucky was standing a few feet away, watching him with a suspicious look on his face. The moment he saw Steve he strolled over, posture aggressively laid back, kissed him and slung an arm around his shoulder. Tony glanced at them over the top of his sunglasses before letting out a semi-hysterical laugh. Peggy made a similar sound, but more muffled, as she walked away.

"Relax, Barnes, I'm not trying to steal your boyfriend. It's prom, not a runaway marriage." He slid his phone onto his pocket, and stood up, turning to open the car door. "In fact, I'm glad you're here. Both of you, in the car."

Steve rolled his eyes, and walked forward. He was moderately sure Tony wasn't going to take no for an answer, and he wasn't entirely opposed to prom. Bucky followed; Steve could still see suspicion on his face. But they slid into the back seat while Tony slid into the front, and the driver pulled away from the curb.

"Why are you talking about going to prom," Steve asked. "It's next weekend, and you don't even go to this school."

Tony snorted. "What are you talking about, Steve? Prom is a rite of passage, I can't not go to my Junior Prom. What kind of teenager would I be?"

"So, why are we here?" Bucky asked.

"Well, it wouldn't be fun if I wasn't going with people I can stand to be around," Tony shrugged. "You two work." The car pulled up, and Tony grinned. "Here we are."

Bucky was frowning at the storefront as they got out of the car, and Steve felt himself mirroring the expression. "Tony, how expensive is this place?"

Tony snorted. "Steve, please, I'm not a cheap date. I told my dad that I needed this to have a regular teenage experience, we're bankrolled."

Bucky made a noise like a protest, which Steve wholeheartedly agreed with, but Tony didn't pay the slightest bit of attention. Really, they never stood a chance.

"Do you really think you need more help getting ready than Bucky does?"Peggy asked, from where she was peering at the paintings tacked to Steve's wall.

"I'm not actually sure which of us is worse," Steve said, frowning at his tie. "But Tony's with Bucky anyway."

She muffled a snort. "Trying to convince him he's not going to run off with you again?"

Steve groaned. "I think he's mostly gotten it."

From his place sprawled on Steve's bed, Sam snickered. When Steve glared at him, he grinned unrepentantly. "How long have you been trying to figure that out?" he asked instead.

Steve scowled, letting the tie fall loose around his neck. 'Do you know how to tie it?"

"Nope."

Peggy scoffed, and turned to pull it off Steve's neck. "You two are both useless," she said, hanging it around her own neck. Steve watched her hands carefully as she flipped the ends around each other. "Flip your collar up," she said once she was done, tugging it off her own neck. Steve did as she said, and she slid the loop over his head, tightening it into place.

"Where did you learn to tie a tie?" he asked, smoothing his collar back into place.

"School back in London," she said. "They all have uniforms."

"Huh." Steve turned to study his reflection, tugging at his jacket. "I told you Tony invited you guys to the after party, right?" he said.

"About three times." Sam stood and ambled over, sliding an arm around Peggy's waist and tugging her into him. "I think we got it."

Peggy rolled her eyes, and elbowed him lightly. "We'll see you there, if you're all done? You look done. And very handsome."

"Yeah, I think I am," Steve looked at them. "Why am I nervous? It's stupid to be nervous, right?"

"Yes," Sam said. "But it's normal. We'll see you later, have fun with your boyfriend."

They left, and Steve went to sit in the living room. His mom was there, beaming as soon as she saw him in his suit. He kept checking his phone, counting down the minutes until Bucky and Tony were supposed to be picking him up. When the knock on the door came he jumped up, when he opened the door his breath caught. Maybe that was okay, he thought, because Bucky was looking at him like his had too. They both split into huge grins a few seconds later, and Steve stepped back so Bucky could come in.

"My mom wants to take pictures," he said. "Where's Tony?"

"In the limo," Bucky said, stepping inside, and smiling at Steve's mom. "He was on the phone to someone, he told me to come get you."

He stayed close to Steve while Steve's mom directed them into the right place in the lounge and pulled out her camera. They stood next to each other, and Bucky slung his arm around Steve's shoulder, and he ended up beaming at the camera so hard it hurt.

  
  



End file.
